I'll just put the:

Disclaimer: I don't own F-Zero or the names of anyone in the games. Nintendo made it and Sega made GX.

And here it is:

            One day when I went to the junkyard was when this story really begins. I was digging through some old parts when I found two 2.7 speed ion engines in mint condition. I grabbed them with ease but I couldn't help but think, ' who in their right mind would throw these away? Unless they were hiding them here or their stolen...' But none the less, I needed them and they were just sitting there so I carried them to my car when I saw another car that had the number 24 on it. 'That's an F-Zero racer' I thought to myself, ' but who?'

            So I hid behind my car a watched the man get out. He's an African American who stood at I'd say 6'1" with gold chains around his neck. I recognized him as Michael Chain, the leader of the notorious Bloody Chain gang. He dug around where I got the parts and then I heard him scream. He grabbed one of his members that was with him by his shirt and yell, "I thought I made it clear, ' put the engines in the junk yard' but no. You have to be a freakin' moron and go screw it up two days before the race."

            He punched him and threw him in to the junk. They started to walk away but then they saw my car and walked over to it. I always had a pistol with me just in case since I saw the last store that was robbed. Three people died and the rest were injured.

            I pulled it out and when one saw me with the parts I kicked his legs and pistol-whipped him on his temple. They started shooting at me and I hid behind the car for cover. I could hear the bullets hitting the car with a clang, clang, clanging against the car. The bullets aren't going to look to good on the paint but it's better than having them lodge in into me. I shot three bullets and one of them hit a member. I hopped into my car and drove away, shooting a few shots out the window. I drove away but I saw him get into his racer to chase me, which told me he really wanted those parts.

            I drove down the freeway and got out of the rush hour traffic by setting the hover higher than the regular cars on the street, a little extra I added to get home quicker. He did the same and we raced over the cars, going through alleys and driving up side roads. I thought he lost me so I rushed back to the junkyard to go home, but it was a trap. I saw a roadblock and an electro-magnet strong enough to pull me down. I knew the way to get over it, but I needed to slow down first. I slowed down to 80 mph and put my gun out the window. I shot the magnet over so it would help me and not hurt. I gunned my engine to 280 mph and shot over the roadblock at 367 mph, thanks to the magnet, and flew into the junkyard.

            I kept on driving until I got to the shop and got the mechanic to install the new engines. His name is Gurt, an alien like Octoman. The extra arms make it easier to fix and trick out cars. I wanted to make my car an F-Zero racer but it couldn't go fast enough to race, so those engines were a crazy good find.

            "So, Blake," Gurt started, "you found some brand new, 2.7, turbo speed engines in a junk yard, but Chain comes to take them and almost killed you. Sounds like your dreams, but even better."

            "Well can you install them?" I asked eagerly.

            "Yeah, but it'll cost ya 500 smackers."

            I reached into my pocket and counted the money I saved up over the years. I was 24 now and I had dark brown hair that looked messed up like I just got out of bed. I had brown eyes and was about 6'0" tall and fit, but not abnormally ripped like most F-Zero racers. I handed Gurt my money and he started to install the pods. I was so excited. All I needed was a shield and I could enter! That was all. That was the only thing between that track and me.

            "You got any force shields?" I asked him.

            "I think I got one back here but," Gurt stopped.

            "But what?"

            "It's broken and I can't fix it," he replied, "on the count a' it's about 30 years old. I think I know a' someone who could fix it, but he's an ol' coot. You might of heard of him, Silver Neelson. He hit 99 a week ago and's been in a bunch of races and knows a lot about older machines. Just look in a phone book or something."

            Of course I had heard of him. The man's 99 and still racing! That's like not knowing the sky's blue. I drove back to my apartment and looked him up. I found him, but it was late so I just went to sleep, looking forward to tomorrow.

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